


Unseen Scars

by Bronte



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Badass Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Bedside Vigils, Concussions, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I love to make them huuuuurt, Identity Reveal, Injury, Injury Recovery, Protect Adrien Agreste, Sickfic, Somebody take my keyboard away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 14:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronte/pseuds/Bronte
Summary: Concussions, as he was finding out, are awful.A Bad Things Happen Bingo story, in four parts.





	1. 1 & 2

**Author's Note:**

> I may be known for my smutty stories, but nothing starts jerkin my gherkin quite like putting Adrien through a world of pain. 
> 
> This is also crossposted on Tumblr. You can find and follow me at ao3bronte!

> **Hiding an Injury**

His head _ aches. _

He remembers what happened vaguely, but everything has been a little bit foggy for the past few days. He squints at the image projected on the screen of their classroom but the images are too bright and too fast for him to focus on them, his eyes bleary with something so inexplicable that he can’t put his finger on it. It doesn’t help either that it’s been days since he’s slept more than a few hours at a time, wrestling with the two conflicting sides of his responsibilities; supermodel and superhero and student and teenager and—

His cheek slips from his palm and smacks into the desk.

That does the trick, more or less, his eyes wide open at the rude awakening. His classmates are chuckling, his teacher is eyeing him reproachfully, a reprimand on her lips that he can barely listen to, not really. His ears buzz and his vision wavers like petrol on asphalt, a blurry multicoloured mess of lights swirling together until they all blend into one. It’s noisy here, and blinding. 

“Adrien?”

The pain is getting worse, he thinks, but it’s the only thought he can focus on beyond the hum of the projector above his head and the murmur of the people around him. It’s so noisy, _ too _ noisy, and it hurts to think of anything else. His brain feels like it’s turned to sludge and every movement makes it slosh achingly around in his skull like a nasty science experiment gone wrong. 

“Mlle Bustier, is he okay?” 

He feels himself list a little to the left and succumbs to the magnetism of gravity, sliding off the polished wood and onto god knows what. He expects to feel the floor and finds warmth instead within a cocoon of arms and tangled limbs splayed wide, floor polish and vanilla perfume.

“Adrien!”

“Oh my god, are you alright?!”

The voices are far too close for his ears to handle, lost and adrift in a sea too deafening to quell. He’s losing track of what’s happening, of who he is, of where he is in time and space and clings to the only thing he can feel that doesn’t feel like dying. His heartbeat throbs like a bass drum between his temples and he wants to tell them to turn it down and just stop it already, please make it stop.

“Careful now, we don’t want him to hit his head.”

There’s a shift in the space between them, whoever them is. He just wants peace and quiet and his bed. He could spend forever there.

“Give him some space. Alya, can you page the nurse?”

A shuffle of feet. A murmuration. A cry of indignation.

But no relief.

“Mme. Guérisse, thank you for coming so quickly.”

“What happened?”

“He just kind of passed out!”

“He’s been dead on his feet all week.”

“I think his dad is overworking him or something.”

“Doesn’t he get any sleep?”

“He’s always doing photoshoots for his father. I would know, I’ve been personal invited to—”

“Hush! Mme. Guérisse, were you able to contact his father?”

“The call went to voicemail. I’ll try M. Agreste again before I leave a message with his assistant.”

“Okay, tell her that we’re sending him home with _ un rhûme _. Don't say anything about the fainting, M. Damoclès doesn't want his father threatening to sue the school again.”

“Of course. I'll leave a message with Mme. Sancoeur now.”

His eyelashes feel like fiberglass. His head feels like a bomb.

“Dude, I don't know what's wrong with you but you’re scaring the hell out of us.”

Adrien practically melts into the hand on his shoulder, bowing his body towards the heat and the pressure.

“I hope you're alright man.”

The pressure dissolves.

> **Shaking and Shivering**

It’s twilight when he finally comes to, the streetlights of Paris illuminating the otherwise murky grey skies of early spring. It’s cold in his room and he’s chilled to the marrow, the beds of his nails blue and his lips raw and dry from shallow breaths parched for oxygen. Groaning, he winces as his voice grinds like gravel in his throat, scraping against his tongue and vocal chords and scouring them raw. He tries to pull himself up off of his couch and barely manages to lift his frozen fingers let alone his head, and the weight of gravity sits upon him like the massive stone of Sisyphus they’d been studying in school. 

“P-P-Plagg?”

He tries to urge his eyelids to open, tries to spot the kwami without being able to do so much as stir. He feels more than finds the little creature shivering just beneath the small of his back, curled into a tight ball against his depleting body heat.

Beneath his numbness, the panic of his situation begins to set in. The last of his adrenaline hits his bloodstream and Adrien spends it rolling off of the cushions and onto the floor, careful not to flatten his quivering kwami in the process. He lands hard on his elbows and knees and pushes himself to his feet, staggering against muscles and bones that refuse to listen to the synapses in his brain, too eager to fall back into the painless paradise of oblivion. Nauseous, his world tilts as he takes Plagg into his palm, cold and stiff and barely breathing.

A brackish pink aura overtakes his bedroom, the colours of the setting sun peaking through the clouds congealing with the black spots creeping into the corners of his vision. He spots his bed some ways away and reels, swaying and tottering with every uneven step. His feet are floating and something is pushing down on his shoulders, some unwelcome force that shatters his depth perception and threatens to shove him back onto his hands and knees. He braces himself on the nearest wall and keeps his eyes facing his destination, determined as ever to get Plagg warm. 

He’s mere centimeters away when his legs finally give out on him, his world spinning and heaving as he yields to the floor. With his last ounce of energy, Adrien lifts his right palm and shoves it between the duvet and the mattress, depositing the kwami as far as he can within the warmth of the sheets. His stomach is lurching, his eyes blurred and unfocused, his skull throbbing with the hit to the forehead he takes against the bedframe on the way down to the floor. His teeth chatter as his chin slams into the hardwood and there’s no point in fighting it any longer, too overwhelmed by the shooting stars hurtling behind his eyelids.

He succumbs.


	2. 3 & 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I won't actually kill him...right?
> 
> (I wrote that to a friend who promptly threw _if i had a wish (i'd wish for more of this)_ in my face. Oops.)

> **Bedside Vigil**

Marinette lets her mind drift away from her hands as she sifts flour and salt into the stainless steel mixing bowl, tapping the little sieve with the inside of her index finger. She’s not listening to the chatter of the television in the background or the conversation her parents are having about Mme. Affamé’s catering gig the following Thursday evening. In fact, the only thing she keeps thinking about is Adrien’s face as he collapsed in his seat and began to keel sideways into the stairway between desks during their geography lesson that afternoon. It was only her and Nino that kept him from smashing his head altogether on the hard floors of their classroom; she’d caught him with her arms and softened his fall while Nino had slowed his descent by grabbing his hands. Somehow, the two of them had managed to get him prone before he could hurt himself any further and he was quickly whisked away to the nurse’s room before she could absorb what had happened.

Forming a well in the middle of the dry ingredients, Marinette remembers noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes, bags that reminded her strangely of the ones beneath her own. She looks up and watches herself form the dough in the reflection of the bakery’s windows, her bright blue eyes encircled by bruises of deep purples and browns. The late nights and the physical exertion of crime fighting wasn’t doing her skin any favours but  _ Le Papillon _ and his akumas didn’t seem particularly concerned with her health and wellbeing. Above all, her duty is to the city of Paris; her moisturisers and concealers would just have to keep pulling double duty.

She pours cold water into the mixing bowl and begins to knead the dough together, rolling, scraping and pounding the pastry between her palms. The work is mindless and it gives her time to think back and analyse Adrien and his behaviours leading up to today. His slumped shoulders, the way he stretched upwards with his arms when he yawned three times in a row, exposing the champagne flesh of his abdomen. His cheekbones buried in his palms, barely supporting the weight of his head as he slumped bonelessly against the wooden desks, his fingers limp and idle when they were usually always spinning a pen or pencil, tossing them up like batons and catching them just as easily.

The signs were obvious. How hadn’t she seen them?

Except it’s not like she could have made a difference anyway. Adrien is  _ Adrien Agreste _ , a beautiful enigma in the otherwise blasé existence that is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, kind and talented and gorgeous in every way she simply could never attain. 

Ladybug, on the other hand...

She covers her dough with cling film and sets the bowl in the fridge, closing the stainless steel doors behind her. She leans against the heavy frame for a moment and closes her eyes with a sigh, crossing her flour covered forearms over her chest. Should she check up on him and see if he’s okay? Just this once?

She peeks through the doors towards the kitchen and quickly spots her parents in the tiny space. Her father is gently kneading some pastry and setting aside huge rectangles of dough for her mother to slather with butter and fold repeatedly, a third here, roll, a third there and roll again. It’s surprisingly soothing, watching her parents work in tandem like a well-oiled machine, their separate parts in constant unison.

She clears her throat and steps over the threshold, “Maman, Papa?”

_ “Oui, ma belle?” _

“Is it okay if I turn in for the night? My batch of pastry is in the fridge.”

“Of course Marinette. Don’t forget to update the Facebook page for us, we want all of Paris to know about the green tea mille-feuille tomorrow!”

“I will!”

She scurries up the stairs and closes the trap door behind her, quickly tearing out the claw clip keeping her hair from falling into the pastry. It cascades over her shoulders and she whisks it into her usual style, two identical tails on either side of her scalp. She checks herself in the mirror briefly before sensing Tikki’s persistent stare boring a hole between her shoulder blades.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Marinette?”

The heroine frowns, “I’ve already met him a couple times as Ladybug. Besides, I just want to make sure he’s okay. It’s not like I’m going to go into his room or anything.”

“Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Marinette scoffs, pulling her bedroom’s curtains closed for emphasis,  _ “Tikki, transforme-moi!” _

~

Bounding across rooftops and sliding down eaves, the sun’s warmth begins to evaporate behind the horizon. She’s long memorised the Agreste’s home address, having swung by it more than a few times during her solo patrols, not to mention the commotion last Christmas when Adrien had gone missing. It’s a sprawling property surrounded by massive gardens lined with trees not yet in bloom and she analyses it carefully from afar, wary of the security cameras dotting the entrances and pathways around the home. None of them seem to be facing upwards and Ladybug takes advantage of their lack of foresight.

Using her yoyo, Ladybug scales down the side of the mansion’s walls and peeks into several different windows before finally coming across a long stretch of glass that seems to meet the criteria of the teenage boy’s bedroom. Multi-coloured rock climbing holds dot the walls along the upper floors, leading to a skateboarding ramp that plunges steeply to the hardwood floor below. She places her fingertips gently on the glass as she takes in the enormous library, the spiral staircase, the ultra-modern divan in the middle of the floor, the bed—

The bed!

Panic grips her heart as she spots a pair of legs sprawled out from behind the ramp beside the mattress platform and Ladybug quickly leaps into action, searching for a way inside. She swings along the corridor of windows and doesn’t find a single one with an opening latch, digging her fingers into each and every crack. Narrowing her eyes, she glances through to the other side of the room and notices that one of the windows seems to be reflecting the light slightly differently than the others and hauls herself over to the other side of the building, paying no mind as she scrapes her shin against the shingles.

She pries the window open and slithers inside as quietly as she can, booking it across the room as fast as she can manage. Adrien is slumped over on the floor, unconscious and barely moving. His eyelids are a discomforting navy blue and his lips even more so, his skin now as pale as the stark walls of his room. Leaping without looking, Ladybug scoops him in her arms and gently lifts him beneath the shoulders and the bend of his knees, relying on her strength not only as Ladybug but on the way her heart seems to be hammering relentlessly in her chest. 

She sets him on his mattress and immediately begins to fuss, pulling his bedsheets down on one side to try and get him tucked in beneath the duvet. She pauses momentarily to remove his shoes and notices that his feet are as cold as icicles, frozen and leaden beneath her fingers. Panicking, she immediately starts looking around and notices a pair of socks strewn on the ground a few meters away. She dives for them and snatches them off the floor, shoving them onto his feet in the hopes that the extra layer with do something to stave off the horrible chill.

Ladybug’s breathing becomes more and more erratic as she struggles to wriggle the sheets and duvet from underneath Adrien’s prone body. Finally free of his weight, she piles the first and second layers of sheets over top of him and tucks the fabric in beneath the folds of his body like a  _ filet de bœuf en croûte _ . Satisfied, she pulls the duvet up to his chin and glances around, spotting two additional blankets folded over the backrest of the divan in the middle of the room. She slides over and snatches them from the cushions, bringing them both back to Adrien as quickly as possible. She sets one on the floor as she billows the other over his body, tugging and tucking the fourth layer of fabric up and all around. Finally, she unfolds the last blanket and sets it over where his feet should be to try and warm them further.

She fusses over him for a little longer, single-minded in her determination to make sure that he’s fully enclosed in his cocoon of blankets and bedding. She gently presses the back of her hand against his forehead, emulating what her Maman had done so many times to her as a child, and gasps as the chill of his skin seeps through her suit. She worries her lower lip with her teeth and tries to quell the panic that continues to escalate into a fever pitch in her stomach, her insides tossing and turning with anxiety. 

What if he’s really sick?

Why hasn’t anyone checked up on him?

If she hadn’t come to visit, would he have been laying on the floor until morning?

She’s suddenly filled with a fury she didn’t realise she was capable of, the feeling coursing through her veins and heating her rapidly. How  _ dare _ they leave Adrien alone to fend for himself when he was so clearly sick?

Ladybug starts to pace, her blood practically boiling. Whenever she comes down with something, her parents are always fussing over her, checking her temperature and making sure she’s properly fed and hydrated. Had anyone even brought him something to eat? Had he not eaten anything substantial since breakfast? She’d watched him pick at his salad not eight hours earlier in the school’s courtyards, eating the odd slice of vegetable here and there.

Ladybug huffs in aggravation and glances around the room in an attempt to find the time. There’s nothing at his bedside so she skips over the coffee table and wriggles the computer’s mouse, finding 23:43 in the right-hand corner. She glances back over at his bedroom door and wrestles with her decision, ultimately choosing to take her chances and find him some medicine.

“Wait!”

Ladybug freezes, her hand already clasping the door’s handle. She turns slowly, pupils blown wide; that was  _ not _ Adrien’s voice.

“Come back.”

Shaking, Ladybug pivots on her heel, her eyes as wide as saucers. Had she been caught? The voice came from Adrien’s direction but he’s still lying completely still, eyes closed and unresponsive beneath the mountain of bedsheets. Ladybug hesitates and takes a cautious step back towards the bed.

“Hello?”

Her whisper sounds haggard in the otherwise cavernous room and she narrows her eyes, suddenly doubting what she was hearing. She waits a few more seconds before shaking her head and turning back towards the door.

“I s-s-said…”

Ladybug jerks around again and crosses the space between her and Adrien within seconds, towering over his bed. She stares apprehensively, watching what appears to be Adrien’s moving hand suddenly emerge from the side of the mattress.

_ Thump. _

Ladybug’s world suddenly stands still.

Something black and little lands on Adrien’s bed platform with a groan, rolling lethargically in response to the inertia of its fall. She steps backwards in horror, her hands coming up to cover her mouth to stop the scream about to burst from her lips.

And two bright green eyes stare back.

> **Cradling Someone in Their Arms**

She’s slinking around the Agreste’s industrial kitchen, her blood still pounding far too loudly in her ears for her to even attempt an air of covertness. Thankfully, the staff has long vacated this part of the mansion and Ladybug doesn’t hesitate to fling open the fridge and snatch a container of  _ bouillon de poulet _ from the top shelf as well as a slice of camembert cheese wrapped in cling film from the lower drawers. Clutching both items to her chest, she manoeuvres back through the maze of reception rooms and foyers before making her way back upstairs, slinking into Adrien’s room as easily as she escaped. 

Releasing a sigh of relief once the door is firmly closed behind her, Ladybug pries the plastic lid from the broth and sets it in the microwave sitting atop his minifridge, setting the timer for two minutes before fetching a bottle of water. She twists off the top and strides carefully back towards the bed, eyeing the familiar little ball of black and green suspiciously. Plagg had buried himself in the haphazard splay of Adrien’s hair while she was away, tucked up just behind his cheek and ear. Taking a wary breath, she unwraps the cheese and sets it on the bedside table, watching as the little kwami responds.

“Oooooh…”

Plagg’s nostrils begin to twitch and Ladybug watches the little slits of his eyes widen, following the unpleasantly strong scent of the cheese. He floats sluggishly towards the table and collapses on top of the crumpled cling film, burrowing his face and teeth into the creamy slice. 

The microwave beeps and Ladybug turns back around, still keeping an eye on the lethargic kwami behind her. He had demanded cheese and soup almost immediately, leaving no room for explanation or negotiation. Then he’d given her directions to the kitchen, promised he would explain once he had eaten, and promptly fell back asleep. 

Breathing out, she plucks a plastic spoon from the ceramic mug sitting on top of the microwave and returns once again to Adrien’s bedside, carefully setting the hot broth down on the mattress platform, “Are you his—”

“Kwami? Yes.”

Ladybug tries to keep her facial expression neutral as Plagg turns his attention to her, the ring of gooey cheese splattered all over his face both endearing and disgusting. It reminds her of Tikki after a long battle and judging by the impish stare he seems to be giving her in return, she doubts she’s been successful.

“Plagg—”

“Feed him first. Then I’ll explain.”

“Feed him?” Ladybug turns her head and stares at Adrien, glancing apprehensively between the container of broth and the profile of his face, the shadows of his silhouette illuminated by the irradiant light of the Parisian twilight. She places a hand on his shoulder and gently tries to rouse him, watching his face for a sign or reaction that he might be coming to.

“He hasn’t eaten properly in a couple days. Hasn’t remembered to feed me either,” Plagg explains around a mouthful of cheese, “But I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight, not when he’s been…”

The knot in Ladybug’s stomach tightens as the kwami trails off, “Why hasn’t he been eating?”

“Says he’s too nauseous,” Plagg shrugs, gnawing on the cheese’s rind.

“Oh,” Ladybug replies, not knowing what else to say. What would make you so nauseous that you wouldn’t want to eat? The stomach flu? Or food poisoning? “What should I do?”

“Feed him. He’s not going to wake up if he doesn’t get his strength back.”

“Okay,” she murmurs and her voice sounds more determined than she feels, “I have to sit him up so...pillows. Let’s find some pillows.”

She scours the bedroom quickly and, considering the massive size of it, comes up empty handed, “Not a single pillow?” Ladybug sighs and frustration begins to leach into the jumbled cocktail of her emotions, “Okay. Plan B.”

She doesn’t notice the kwami’s eyeballs nearly bulge out of his skull as she crawls into bed with his wielder, sliding her palms in beneath his pillow and scooting her left leg underneath. She shimmies as smoothly as she can possibly manage, arranging herself to sit upright against the headboard and with one hand propping his neck up, she pulls the pillow out and places it on his lap, setting him back down against her front as carefully as possible.

She pauses and tries not to blush at the intimate position she’s found herself in.

Eyebrows furrowed in determination, she sets her feelings aside for the moment and puts her hands in the divot between his arms and chest and hauls him upwards, bracing his back and upper body on her chest. He slumps against her, still blissfully unaware, and Ladybug heaves a sigh of relief and embarrassment; she’s been close to him before but never quite like this, his body completely slack in her embrace as she tries to keep him comfortable and warm at the same time. He takes slow and shallow breaths, still lost in the midst of sleep, and she takes pride in the colour that’s returned to his lips and cheeks now that he’s spent some time under the covers.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

Feeling far more determined than she did a few minutes ago, Ladybug brackets Adrien with her left leg and stretches out her right, reaching for the container of broth sitting just out of reach. Using her foot, Ladybug nudges the tupperware close enough to grab it only for the spoon to fall onto the floor with a clatter and Ladybug glares up at the heavens reproachfully, cursing her bad luck.

There’s the slightest pressure on her knee a moment later and Ladybug swivels her head around to see Plagg setting the spoon against her leg. He’s watching her curiously, his green eyes shining brighter than they were only minutes ago and she thanks him, gathering her wits as he sits himself down on the pillow in Adrien’s lap to observe.

“Oookay,” Ladybug swallows and peels the lid from the plastic container, setting it out of the way. She arranges Adrien’s head backwards so it rests against her left shoulder and delicately spoons the first of the broth passed his lips, carefully examining his throat to make sure he swallows. She repeats the motion several times and, confident that she’s not drowning him, turns her attention back to the kwarmi of destruction before her.

“Talk.”

The kwami blinks slowly, “What do you want to know?”

“How did Adrien find you?”

“Same way you found Tikki, I guess.”

Ladybug thinks back to the little box hiding in one of the drawers of her boudoir, “So he’s…”

Plagg cocks his head to the side and nods.

Gasping, Ladybug tries to crush the swell of her heartbeat pounding in her ears at the realisation of it being spoken aloud. How did she not see it before? How long had she spent watching him move across her computer screen in his perfume adverts and not compared their gaits, their eye colour, their smiles? 

She glances down at his disheveled blond hair and feels nothing but shame; why didn’t she put the pieces together before?

“Is he going to be okay?”

“Maybe.”

Ladybug’s eyes swing back sharply to the kwami in alarm, “What do you mean, maybe?”

He shrugs.

“You’re not being honest.”

“Not exactly.”

Ladybug purses her lips, “Chat Noir doesn’t lie to me.”

Plagg meets her gaze, “I’m not Chat Noir.”

“But I am Ladybug,” she growls, “And you  _ will _ answer me.”

She and Plagg stare pointedly at each other for a long moment before he eventually slumps in defeat, his little body thumping against the pillow, “Fine.”

“Good. Now tell me what’s wrong so I can try and help.”

Plagg whines, “He…hasn’t been himself lately.”

Ladybug turns her attention to the dark circles beneath his eyes and nods, urging him on.

“He’s been stretching himself and spending more time in our form than he has in his own. This isn’t exactly supposed to be a permanent transformation, but one of necessity. It’s  _ exhausting _ ,” Plagg pulls a face, “He can’t always sleep and stays out all night, running over rooftops and draining both of us. By the time he makes it back into bed, it’s usually only a few hours before he has to wake up for school.”

“I should have noticed,” Ladybug fights the tears beading at the corners of her eyes, “I should have seen the signs!”

Plagg slumps, “He hides it well. He doesn’t want anyone to worry about him.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but it’s obvious once he knows he’s alone,” Plagg continues, wringing his paws together, “He’s always been…sad I guess, when he thinks no one is looking, but it’s only gotten worse after last week’s akuma attack.”

“Which one? We practically have one a day.”

Plagg’s whiskers twitch, “The one with the fireman.”

“Oh,” she whispers, bending the elbow of the arm supporting his head to check his temperature, “That was a tough one.”

“Yup.”

Her brows begin to furrow, “Didn’t he get hurt? He tried playing it off but…”

“We got caught when the house fell on us.”

“Oh god,” Ladybug’s hand covers her face in shock, “Did he get hurt? Did he hit his head?”

“I think so,” Plagg says, rubbing at the back of his head, “I can’t really remember. Everything was a bit of a blur after that.”

Concern burns deep in her chest, “Why didn’t my cure heal him?”

“I took the brunt of it,” Plagg murmurs, “And I’m not sure but...I haven’t felt like myself much since either.”

Ladybug’s thoughts begin to run rampant, “I need to get you to Master Fu. If you’ve been hurt, he can heal you too.”

“I’m not going anywhere without him,” Plagg kneads his paws against his wielder’s blankets, “You can take me after once he’s feeling better.”

“But what if…” Ladybug trails off, tipping another spoonful of broth passed Adrien’s lips, “Oh god, this is bad. Please tell me someone took him to the hospital.”

“He’s been playing it off as a headache, not that anyone asked. His father is never around and his assistant rarely interacts with him beyond what’s strictly necessary.”

Her arms tighten around him, “How could they not have noticed?”

“Like I said, he hides it well.”

Ladybug tries to keep the myriad of emotions threatening to well up behind her eyes at bay, “What are we going to do?”

“He has you.”

She looks up and Plagg stares back, his eyes burning with intensity, “Of course he does. We’re partners.”

“Just partners?”

Ladybug looks away from Plagg’s arched eyebrow and goes for the last few spoonfuls of soup, “He has Nino too, and Alya. And Marinette.”

Plagg’s eyebrow rises even higher, “You can’t fool me, Spots. You think I wouldn’t notice Tikki hiding in your handbag after all this time?”

Ladybug stiffens at the accusation, “Does he know?”

“Know what?”

“That I’m…Marinette.”

Plagg rolls his eyes in response, “No, not that’s it’s not  _ completely obvious _ .”

She blushes at the sarcasm, watching as Adrien’s eyelashes flutter briefly before going slack again, “I don’t think I’m ready for him to know.”

“Then help him as Ladybug. Please.”

Ladybug holds back tears as Plagg’s nonchalance fails him for a moment, the panic and worry of the past week overwhelming him before he can manage to get his mask back into place. She reaches out to cup the kwami in her hand and nods resolutely, “I’ll do everything I can.”

Plagg presses his forehead into her palm, “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	3. 5 & 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you all believe I've written a non E rated story that takes place, for the majority of the time, in Adrien's bedroom? 
> 
> I deserve a hero biscuit. Or something.
> 
> (...I'm hungry)

> **Doesn't Realise They've Been Injured **

That night, Marinette rolls over in her bed for the umpteenth time and tries to force herself to sleep by sheer willpower alone, which is hardly doing her any good. How could she sleep? Adrien was Chat Noir, her partner! Her very injured and possibly very sick partner, mind you, and all she can do is replay last week’s akuma attack over and over again in her mind’s eye like a stitching pattern stuck on repeat.

_ It’s pouring rain outside and Marinette thankfully had enough foresight to pack her superhero raincoat. She ducks into an alleyway, transforms, and zips the black and red coat up to her chin before she can get too wet; after the last akuma attack in a rainstorm and the resulting adventure with Tikki and Master Fu, she hadn’t hesitated in splurging three months worth of her allowance on the best red and black polka-dot waterproof fabric her money could buy. _

_ She admires her own creation in the reflection of a nearby storefront before unlatching her yoyo from her waistband and tossing the magical weapon at the nearest streetlamp. The familiar motion easily launches her into the air and she takes to the sprawling boulevards of Paris like the storm above to track down the trail of black smoke floating up into the clouds. _

_ It doesn’t take long to find the damage; Le Moulin Rouge is completely up in flames and Chat already has most of the tourists and performers out of the building by the time she gets there. Pursing her lips, she lands alongside of him and surveys the scene. _

_ “Who’s our target this time?” _

_ “A firefighter,” Chat replies, extending his baton, “Calls himself Pyromane.” _

_ “Creative,” Ladybug rolls her eyes, “Too bad he can’t hold a candle to us.” _

_ “M’Lady,” Chat whispers, clutching his chest in adoration and Ladybug runs forward with a grin, launching herself into the fray. _

_ Unfortunately, the fight is long and hampered constantly by the slickness of the rain on the concrete, leaving them both grappling for balance after every punch and parry. The supernatural flames don’t seem to be affected by the endless deluge pouring down from the skies either and once the inferno starts spreading to the surrounding buildings, Ladybug and Chat have no choice but to abandon their fight with Pyromane and try and save the people trapped within. _

_ “Chat!” Ladybug heaves for breath, bracing her weight on her knees as she runs from a burning building, “Was that the last person?" _

_ Running just behind her, Chat wipes his brow and smears a layer of soot against his skin, “I think so. I’ll take another look inside just to be sure.” _

_ “Hurry! I don’t know how long I can hold Pyromane off on my own!” _

_ “As M’Lady commands!” _

_ Ladybug turns back towards the akumatised fire chief and doesn’t think twice as she goes in for the attack, dodging the spray of his water cannons and fireballs. He sets a row of trees alight and, in between the writhing hoses and the weakening buildings falling all around her, Ladybug barely makes it out of Pyromane’s reach unscathed. _

_ Relentless, Pyromane aims his cannons and shoots at one of the neighbouring buildings already gutted by fire, laughing maniacally as it crumbles to the ground in a plume of flames. He blasts a volley of fireballs into the sky and Ladybug can’t help the sinking feeling in her stomach, praying that Chat had made it out before being trapped beneath the walls of the collapsed structure. Swallowing thickly, she rushes over beneath the cover of smoke just to make sure. _

_ The hoses hinder her progress as they slither towards her, their open mouths spewing pressured water strong enough to rip the roots of the burning trees from the ground around her. She dodges them as best she can and clambers over top of their spray, hoping to damage their spouts if she aims them at each other. Kinking the hoses with the string of her yoyo, Ladybug follows them to the possessed firetruck they’re attached to and rips the hoses from their connectors, freeing the ground long enough to finally make it back to the building. _

_ “Chat!” Ladybug hollers, narrowly sidestepping Pyromane as he throws a volley of fireballs in her wake, “Chat, where are you?!” _

_ “I will raze Paris to the ground!” Pyromane cackles, “No one will be able to stop me!” _

_ Ladybug smells burning rubber and hopes the akuma hasn’t singed the antennae on the hood of her coat, “Yeah? Well, I have a burning question for you!” _

_ Curious, Pyromane pauses his assault and Ladybug takes advantage of his momentary confusion to analyse him carefully. There’s nothing particularly exceptional about his outfit besides the shiny oversized helmet on his head and Ladybug quickly decides that the helmet must be where the akuma is hiding, “How many firemen does it take to change a light bulb?” _

_ Pyromane roars and Ladybug quickly launches her yoyo in the air for a lucky charm, pausing to catch a tin of petrol from the sky. _

_ “Really?” Ladybug shakes the jug and frowns, “This will only make it worse!” _

_ “Ladybug!” _

_ Spinning around at the sound of his voice, Ladybug gasps out loud as Chat limps up beside her. He’s covered in soot and debris and—, “Oh my god Chat, is that blood?!” _

_ Chat waves her off, “I’m fine. What did I miss?” _

_ “Chat!” Ladybug waves her hands hysterically, “You’re bleeding!” _

_ “I said I’m fine,” he winces, “Ugh, what is that sound?” _

_ “I don’t hear anything besides the fire,” Ladybug responds, glancing between him and the can of petrol in her hands, “Are you sure you’re okay?” _

_ “Yep,” Chat massages his temples, “You know, I lava a good fight, but this one is really burning me up.” _

_ Shaking her head at his pun, Ladybug scans the area around her and doesn’t spot anything particularly helpful besides Chat’s cataclysm. He follows her gaze and nods once the solution to their akuma dawns on them both. _

_ “I’ll distract him for you,” she says, handing him the can and running towards the other side of the boulevard, “Hey Pyromane! Want my Miraculous? Come and get me!” _

_ She doesn’t see so much as hear Chat throw the cataclysmed tin of petrol at the firefighter and braces herself, ducking into a storm drain to shield her body from the shockwaves. The blast explodes like fireworks above her head and she waits until the insanity finally dies down, clambering back to her feet and sprinting towards the stunned firefighter now splayed face first on the cobbles. She snatches the helmet from his head and forcefully slams her heel through the plastic, relieved beyond belief as a purple butterfly emerges from the shell, and capturing it with a flick of her wrist, the heroine of Paris releases a flood of ladybugs to patch up the city. _

_ When she turns to give her partner a fist bump, her lips already poised to shout bien joué, Chat is already gone. _

~

No one is surprised when Adrien doesn’t show up to school the next morning and Marinette tries not to panic, her mind still racing with worst case scenarios. What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he really needs to go to the hospital but his father won’t take him? She spends the majority of her study period looking up concussion symptoms on the internet and fearing for his life when each and every sign of illness falls into place like a red flag:

  * Dizziness? ✓
  * Loss of consciousness? ✓
  * Nausea? ✓
  * Headache? ✓
  * Ringing in the ears? ✓

The list keeps going on and on and the longer she reads it, the more sick she begins to feel. How could this have happened? Why didn’t she do something to help before he got this bad?

“Hey Marinette,” Nino raises his hand in greeting and slides into the seat on her right, “Have you seen Alya?”

Marinette quickly minimizes the browser on her screen, “Alya? I think she went to the dark room to work on her photography project with Rose and Kim.”

“Got it,” he gives her a thumbs up, hesitating ever so slightly before getting up, “You heard from Adrien?”

Marinette squashes the urge to screech and shakes her head.

“Hm,” Nino unconsciously rubs the mobile in his pocket, “I’ve been texting him all morning and he hasn’t answered.”

“He’s uh…he’s probably sleeping!”

Nino considers her words and smiles sheepishly, “You’re right. Dude was pretty sick yesterday, he probably just needs his beauty sleep or something.”

Marinette agrees, closing the screen of her laptop and gathering her charging cord, “Probably. Hey, I’m heading home for lunch. Can you tell Alya I’ll see her later when you find her?”

“Will do!” Nino offers a little wave and heads towards the exit, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She’s got to do something to help Adrien right now or she’ll never forgive herself and she gathers her belongings without further ado, slipping them into her locker and escaping out of the front doors of her  _ collège _ as the noon bell rings.

“Are we going to see Adrien now?” Tikki asks, peeking out from underneath the collar of her raincoat. Marinette simply nods and skids around the corner, skipping over puddles and leaping over curbs.

“Bonjour Maman!” Marinette greets as she barrels through the door of the bakery and flicks off her hood, quickly sprinting up the stairs, “I forgot my lunch!”

She doesn’t wait for her mom’s response as she pushes her apartment door open and darts into the kitchen, opening the fridge door with urgency. She snatches a long-forgotten slice of cheese from the back and a container of leftover  _ soupe au potiron _ from the night before and shoves them into her backpack, backpedalling as quickly as she came. Determined, she leaps down the stairs and shoves her way out the door into the nearest alleyway. 

_ “Tikki, transforme moi!” _

> **Painful Wound-Cleaning**

“How’s he doing?”

Plagg opens one bleary eye and doesn’t move as Ladybug crosses his wielder's bedroom from the open window, pausing at the end of Adrien’s bed before sitting upon the mattress by his feet, “He got up once to use the washroom and fell right back asleep.”

“He didn’t say anything?”

Plagg fiddles with his whiskers and props himself up on Adrien’s cheek, “Not a word.”

Frowning, Ladybug slips her backpack off her shoulders and reaches inside for the slice of cheese she’d taken from her family’s fridge. Unwrapping it, she tosses it towards him and Plagg is quick to action, catching it as it arcs over Adrien’s abdomen and lands on his chest. 

“Finally,” Plagg groans with pleasure as he takes a huge mouthful of roquefort and Ladybug turns her attention to her partner, mirroring her actions from last night. Quietly, she places the container of soup from her backpack into his microwave and sets the timer, keeping a close eye on the liquid so it doesn’t end up boiling over. 

A minute or so later, Ladybug turns around with her steaming hot soup in tow and carefully pads back towards her partner’s bedside, pinning his kwami with a resolute stare. Understanding seems to blossom between them as she sits down at Adrien’s hip and adjusts the sheets around his shoulders, sighing with relief as his temperature seems more or less normal.

“After the building collapsed on him…” she trails off, her conviction wavering, “Was he hurt anywhere else?”

Plagg twitches inadvertently, “I took the brunt of it. That, and the ladybugs mostly did the trick.”

“So, it’s only his head then.”

“Aside from a couple of bruises.”

“Where did he get hit?”

“Uh...” Plagg breaks eye contact to glance at Adrien, “The top? The whole building came down on us.”

Ladybug rises and sits closer to where Plagg had been sleeping against Adrien’s cheek, lightly parting his hair with her fingers. She finds what Plagg has already found himself, swelling and scabs and angry red skin spreading out like spider’s silk between the follicles on the crown of his skull, “Oh my god.”

“I know,” Plagg murmurs, rubbing his own head gingerly; he’s seen his fair share of injuries over the millennia but he’s never been the victim of a shared one.

“He’s going to need to put some ointment on this,” she hisses through watery eyes and gritted teeth. Gathering her composure as quickly as she can manage, she uses a few of the blankets she’d placed on his bed the night prior to prop his upper body up against the headboard.

“Adrien…” she lightly shakes his shoulder and watches as his lips twitch in response, “Adrien, it’s Ladybug.”

His lashes tremble as he fights his way to consciousness,  _ “Hghh?” _

“That’s it, wake up Adrien,” she coaxes him, using her strength to lift him by the underarms and shove the blankets beneath his shoulder blades, “Come on now.”

One green eye opens, its pupil wide and blurry,  _ “Ladybgghh?” _

“Hello sleepyhead,” she greets, staying still as he tries to force open his other eye, “How are you feeling?”

Adrien groans but keeps his focus on her, if only barely. Ladybug smiles and pries open the lid of her mother’s soup, pouring it into the empty mug she took from the shelf, “I brought you something to eat.”

She takes his hand in hers and wraps it around the mug, keeping her fingers twined with his so as to make sure he doesn’t spill it all over himself. She guides it to his mouth as he continues to stare at her, his lips parted and stunned.

“Eat up,” she tries to smile as encouragingly as she can, ignoring Plagg’s blatant stare, “I can’t exactly do my job without you by my side.”

That seems to do the trick and Adrien tips the rim of the mug against his lips, swallowing thickly. She keeps her hand against his until she’s sure he’s aware enough not to drop it and pulls away, watching him closely. He can’t tear his eyes away from hers and she takes the opportunity to compare the size of his pupils, noticing their difference in size and dilation.

“You took a good hit to the head a few days ago,” she starts, urging him wordlessly to keep drinking, “Plagg tells me you didn’t go and get yourself checked out at the hospital.”

Adrien parts his lips to speak and she shushes him, “You have to take care of yourself,  _ mon minou _ . I can’t do this on my own.”

“You…you…”

“Know? I do now,” she gestures with her chin to get him to drink again, “When you collapsed in class—” Ladybug cuts herself off, holding her breath as Adrien’s pupils narrowed marginally, “I mean—”

“You’re in my class?”

“What?” Ladybug reels backwards, “No, I mean I heard—”

He gapes in shock.

Panicking, Ladybug crosses her arms over her chest and tries to look as convincing as possible, “I’m not in your class. But I know Alya personally and…she told me.”

“Alya?” Adrien’s eyes cross ever so slightly and it slowly begins to dawn on Ladybug that he’s not quite acting like himself.

“Adrien, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Adrien blinks slowly, “Ladybug? What are you doing here?”

Ladybug twists around and matches Plagg’s equally stunned expression, their eyes meeting somewhere in the middle. She gets up slowly and makes her way to the bathroom to fetch some antiseptic and tries to reign in the despair clawing at her chest.

“Adrien, Adrien?” Plagg is doing his best to get his kitten’s attention and nearly shirks away when Adrien’s vacant eyes swivel towards him, “Hey Ladybug? This isn’t good.”

She huffs, shoulder deep in the medicine cabinet, “You think I hadn’t noticed?” She grabs a tube of ointment and a package of sterile gauze with one hand and a bottle of peroxide with the other and hurries back to Adrien’s bedside, intent on ignoring his ghostly blank stare.

“Now, this is going to sting a little,” she whispers and clambers over top of him, cupping his head in her hand. She tears open the gauze with her teeth and wets it with the peroxide before he can protest and presses it to his scalp.

**“nnnNNHHHHH!”**

Cringing, Ladybug hopes that someday, she and Adrien will look back on that time Plagg shoved a facecloth in his mouth to keep him from screaming and thank them both.

“Now the ointment,” she pinches the lid between her thumb and forefinger while keeping pressure on the gauze and lifts it only to squirt some of the gel onto his scalp. She presses down and places a few more layers of gauze on top before slowly easing him back down onto his back.

He's looking significantly more awake now, not that it means anything in the wake of his concussion. He picks the offending cloth from his teeth and glares at Plagg, “That  _ hurt. _ ”

“There’s more where that came from if you don’t start taking care of yourself,” Ladybug admonishes gently, her voice wavering over the pounding of her heartbeat. She glances over at the clock, “Take care of yourself Adrien. Lunch is almost over and I need to get back to class.”

“So you do go to my collège…” he mutters absentmindedly and Ladybug can’t find it in her to argue. She gives Plagg a wordless look, one that speaks of his impending pain should Adrien find himself doing something he shouldn’t when she gets back, and checks the unsealed bandage on his head one more time.

“Go back to sleep Adrien. I’ll be back later tonight to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yes M’lady.”

Ladybug smiles and gives into temptation, kissing him briefly on the top of his forehead. She hears him gasp and she tears from the room, leaping through the window and disappearing from sight.

(...she leaves the soup container behind.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the case of the mysterious container. Pray tell, will he find it? And what will he do when he finds out? Or will he? 
> 
> (FML, I need to find something to eat. I'm getting hangry.)
> 
> Leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	4. 7 & 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of this story is based on my own experiences with a concussion. It doesn't just give you amnesia like it does in the movies...it changes you intrinsically, and not for the better. It's been years and I still have symptoms to this day.
> 
> Enjoy the final(?) chapter.

> **Neglect/Abandonment **

It’s not unusual for Nathalie Sancoeur to delegate the various staff members at her disposal to contend with Adrien, especially considering her own...precarious condition at the moment. Since being promoted to M. Agreste’s head assistant ten years prior, she’d been nothing but diligent in her duties and meticulous in her management. 

Except…

Nathalie grimaces and slumps over in her office chair, fighting off another painful migraine. She has enough on her plate as it is, so when faced with something as straightforward as another one of Adrien’s school related illnesses, Nathalie simply thought nothing of it.

Upon having Adrien’s bodyguard deposit him onto his couch in his bedroom three days ago, Nathalie had sent for the family doctor. Despite the short notice, D. Débile arrived within a few hours and prescribed an antiviral without so much as a second glance at the half-asleep boy and ordered Adrien to stay in bed for at least a week to stop the spread of illness to the rest of Paris.

Not that he’d been cognisant enough to hear it, of course. Leaving a note by his bedside with his instructions was a more than sufficient way of communication with Adrien, and Nathalie had done so promptly. Washing her hands scrupulously, she’d left the room immediately after to deal with the mounting responsibilities of being both an assistant by day and a magical cohort by night. 

Adrien would find his way under the covers of his bed eventually.

Meal deliveries were scheduled at 8h, 13h and 19h. Servants M. Simon and M. Dubois were supposed to rouse Adrien, compel him to take his medicine and eat his food promptly, then leave the boy in peace. Nathalie did not want either domestic to contract the illness and spread it to the rest of the staff; she couldn’t fathom the additional headaches she would have to contend with should half her personnel call in sick.

Nathalie’s communication with M. Agreste about Adrien’s physical state is to the point, as always. She relays that Adrien has caught an illness and has been prescribed medicine and seven days rest. Gabriel acknowledges this by asking her to rearrange Adrien’s modelling commitments for the following week.

Done and done. She has far more important things to accomplish.

She looks in on him only once on the third evening, cracking open the door and peering within. He’s sitting and hunched over on the edge of his bedside, dry heaving into the waste bin. She recoils and shuts the door, tapping on her iPad to schedule a cleaning in one half hour.

~

Plagg had long shoved Marinette’s empty container of soup under Adrien’s bed by the time one of the Agreste household maids had come into the bedroom to clean up the mess that his wielder had made on the floor. 

His regurgitations hadn’t exactly...hit their mark.

(And it isn’t that he hasn’t seen his fair share of human’s being gross, but at least he’d been just as drunk as his former wielders when they’d inevitably indulged in too much Roman wine.)

Plagg spends the next several minutes peeping from the covers at the foot of Adrien’s bed, watching from the dark as the maid cleans the bathroom and the area around his bed. The woman only looks slightly puzzled at the wadded-up pieces of cling film piled on his nightstand and finishes cleaning within ten minutes, shutting the door as quickly as she came.

Plagg taps at Adrien’s foot, giving him the green light.

“Ughhhh,” Adrien groans, rolling over onto his side now that the coast is clear, “Why is it so bright in here?”

“It’s not,” Plagg floats from beneath the duvet and hovers in front of him, “So do us both a favour and close your eyes.”

Adrien purses his lips, “Did they even teach you about bedside manners where you came from?”

“Hardly,” Plagg rolls his eyes, “I’m the embodiment of chaos and destruction. I don’t need manners.”

“If I could think straight, I’d make a joke about switching kwamis again. I’m sure Tikki wouldn’t be this mean to me.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Plagg admits, tugging his whiskers, “She’s a coddler. Disgusting.”

“I could use a little coddling,” Adrien murmurs, rolling onto his back and draping his forearm over his eyes, “Plagg, can you believe Ladybug was in my room last night?”

“And the night before that,” Plagg rolls his eyes as Adrien flings his arm across his body and gapes at him in horror, “You were dead asleep for that bit. I wasn’t.”

“Oh no, please don’t tell me I embarrassed myself.”

“You didn’t throw up on her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh thank god,” Adrien groans, shuddering as he closes his eyes against the lamplight filtering down from his desk, “Can you turn that off for me, Plagg? I’d do it myself but...I don’t know what’s wrong with me, honestly. I feel dizzy and kind of... _ merde, _ it begins with an n…”

“Nauseous?”

“Yes! Nauseous,” Adrien’s lips quiver and he takes a raspy breath, “Is there a way to like, reboot your brain? Because I feel like I’ve forgotten half the French language which, you know, sucks. Because I speak French.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Plagg responds, the snark in his voice not matching his expression as he turns his eyes towards the time, “Whatever you knocked loose in there, it’ll come back. It’ll just take a while.”

Adrien shifts his arm enough to expose one eye, “But how long is a while?”

“I don’t know,” the kwami shrugs, “A couple weeks? A couple months? I have no sense of time, I’m a god.”

His wielder sighs, “You’re no help.”

“Says the kid who just asked me to turn off a lamp,” Plagg grouses back, hitting the switch with his paws. Adrien’s bedroom is blanketed in the blessed darkness of early evening and he can finally open his eyes without fighting off the headache that threatens to split his skull in two, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you Plagg. You’re always so kind to me, even when you’re kinda not.”

“Yeah yeah,” Plagg waves him off, “Now get some rest so you can heal that thick skull of yours.”

Adrien sighs his agreement with a tired smile and Plagg only returns the gesture once his kitten’s eyes are closed firmly. Sitting back on his sternum, Plagg waits until his wielder’s breaths have steadied before he takes a weary breath of his own.

This has been the first lucid conversation he’s had with Adrien in seventy-two hours; every other attempt at banter had been a nightmare. Between the stuttering, the forgetfulness and the random bouts of sobbing, Plagg’s anxiety had been threatening to skyrocket through the roof. After all, the sputtering he could deal with. After a round or two of catnip, he certainly knew the struggle of trying to string a sentence together. 

But the sobbing bit?

Plagg shivers at the thought, burrowing against Adrien’s cheek as he settles deeper into his pillow. Plagg has never been particularly competent at managing his kittens and their inevitable moods, but the fact that Adrien has been rocketing through every hue of emotion every time he wakes up is enough to make him want to start throwing up too.

Concussions, as he was finding out, were awful.

> **Concussion **

A few hours later, both Plagg and Adrien wake up with a start as a brown paper sack lands with a crunch beside them. Within the blink of an eye, the kwami tears open the bag and pulls out a wedge of comté, attacking it voraciously. Adrien, on the other hand, can’t seem to drag his eyes away from Ladybug, all silhouette and cinnamon sugar against the haze of light from the streetlamps of Paris.

“Hey Kitty. I brought you some freshly baked bread. I figured after two days of soup, you would be hungry.”

Adrien swallows thickly and reaches for the bag blindly, still staring. She steps closer and her face is suddenly illuminated by the ambient light from his computer screen, highlighting the shape of her chin and the bow of her lips.

“Ladybug…th-thanks.”

She hesitates briefly before sitting at the foot of his bed. She’s as stiff as a board and a blush begins to speckle her cheekbones. Somewhere to her left, Plagg groans.

“You’re welcome,” Ladybug replies after a beat, keeping her voice as steady as possible. She closes her eyes briefly to remind herself why she’s here and opens them again, determined, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he whispers, ripping off a small piece off the bun she’d brought him, “Much better.”

She smiles, “Good. How’s your head?”

“Um…” Adrien reaches back and gently pats the scabby lump still protruding from the back of his skull, “It still hurts.”

Ladybug settles more comfortably on the mattress, crossing her legs in front of her, “I’m not surprised, considering a building fell on top of you.”

“A building?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No…I’m not remembering a whole lot right now, to be honest.”

Ladybug presses her hand against the bulge in the duvet where his feet rest and squeezes gently, “I’m glad you’re being honest with me.”

“Who else can I be honest with? You’re my partner.”

Ladybug smiles and Adrien feels the gravity of the world start to lighten, “I’m glad. I was worried that…” she gestures between the two of them, “...this would make things kind of weird.”

“Our lives are pretty weird to begin with,” Adrien shrugs, wincing a little at the pain that slices through the base of his skull, “But yeah, no. I mean, I haven’t really had a lot of time to, um…”

She watches as his face scrunches up in concentration and tries to console him, “It’s alright...it’s been a lot to take in.”

“Yeah…” Adrien trails off, pointedly looking in any direction other than hers, “Sorry.”

He hears her sigh a little, “Don’t blame yourself for anything, _ mon minou _ . Now, Plagg,” Ladybug scoops the kwami into her palms and scratches his bloated belly, “Has Adrien been behaving himself this evening?”

Plagg’s elated purrs begin to fill the room, “Sort of. He threw up most of his dinner.”

Adrien blushes and shoves another piece of bread into his mouth, praying that it stays down this time, “It didn’t taste as good as yours. Your—your soup, I mean.”

Ladybug tries not to grimace at the graphic detail and glances back down at Plagg, “And you made sure he stayed hydrated?”

Plagg shoves his nose into the air, “Obviously.”

Ladybug shares a look of exasperation with her partner, “Good kitty. Now, go and eat your cheese.” She lowers her hand and lightly rolls him from her palm, smiling as he lays on his back with his cheese, eyes half-lidded in bliss, “Is he always this obsessed with cheese?”

“You have no idea.”

“Well, now I see where you get your  _ cheesy _ lines from.”

Adrien smiles, “You sure know how to hurt my  _ felines _ .”

Snorting, she wipes a hand down her face in mock annoyance and tries to keep her own smile at bay, “You’re  _ pawful _ .”

“M’lady,” he goes to laugh and blanches instead, his hand instinctively clutching his head. Ladybug is beside him in an instant, gloved fingers cupping his elbows and then carding through his hair.

“Are you alright? What is it?”

Adrien pinches his eyes closed and tries to stop the sensation of nausea from crawling up his throat, “I just…need a minute.”

Fighting her own panic coursing through her veins, she continues her ministrations, her thumbs rubbing circles on his temples, “You know, headaches are pretty common after a concussion.”

"Y-yeah?” he stutters, his teeth chattering from the thundering of the axe splitting his skull. He tries to focus on Ladybug’s fingers as her left hand travels down his cheek and around his jaw, scratching at the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” she replies quietly, “By the way, when was the last time you had a shower?”

Adrien’s eyes shoot open, surprised by the sudden turn in conversation, “Uhhh…I don’t know?”

She laughs through her nose, “I can tell. Come on, smelly cat, let’s get you in the shower.”

“Sh-shower?”

“It will make you feel better, I promise. Now, do you need help getting over there?”

Adrien is struggling to keep up with the conversation, but the pain in his head has lessened and there’s a hand in front of his face, beckoning him to stand. He laces their fingers together and lets her pull him to a sitting position for a moment, pausing briefly to fight the acid building in his stomach. He swallows against it and she supports him as he stands, dizzy but otherwise stable. At last, she lets go and matches his wobbly strides as he crosses the floor, eyes focused on the open door of the bathroom on the other side of the room.

“I’ll be out here,” she says, the blush peppering her cheeks returning with full force, “Be careful and try not to slip. Yell if you need me.”

Adrien nods as she closes the door part way behind him, probably in order to save him more easily if need be.

The water stings his scalp when he dips his head beneath the rain shower and he winces when flakes of old blood begin to pool at his feet. Didn’t he shower after he got hit in the head? He doesn’t even remember when that was…a few days ago? Maybe?

Ladybug had said that a building had fallen on top of him as Chat Noir but his recollection was hazy at best. It feels like he’s trying to see his reflection through a fogged-up glass and the image he knows is there is somehow obstructed by some intangible force he can’t wipe away. Errant thoughts and murky memories filter through his mind like a sieve, ideas and entire sentences falling through the cracks.

He pours shampoo in his hands and begins to lather it through his hair, nearly screaming as he dislodges the scabs on his scalp with his fingertips. He doesn’t remember much of what happens after that, but his bottle of conditioner is wet so he must have used it. And his loofah is on the wrong shelf, so he probably washed his body with it at some point. Was it before he washed his hair? Or after? He picks it up and smells it, grimacing when he realises he’s just scrubbed his skin with conditioner.

_ Merde!  _ He just can’t win for losing!

Tears brimming at the corners of his eyes, he shuts off the water and figures that he’s had enough stupid for one day. He towels himself off haphazardly as he steps out onto the shower mat and stares up at the all too bright ceiling to keep from letting his tears stream down his cheeks; he can’t let Ladybug see what an idiot he is, even if it means locking up what he’s feeling and throwing away the key.

She’s left him a pair of fresh pyjamas just inside the threshold of the bathroom door and he feels like crying all over again.

Ladybug is waiting for him when he finally leaves the bathroom, hovering just beyond mattress platform of his bed. She gives him a quick once-over, taking stock of his soggy hair and red rimmed eyes as he exits, and she leads him over to his divan.

“My Papa used to play football when he was a teenager,” she explains quietly, folding one leg beneath her before settling on the couch, “He said that he used to hit his head all the time on the field but they didn't know a lot about concussions back then.”

Adrien follows her lead and sits down beside her, “One day when he was at university, he was playing a practice match against his friends when he was tackled from behind and fell, hitting his head against his friend's cleat. He kept playing but he didn't feel very good and when he and his friends went to the bar for drinks afterwards, he fell asleep on the table and woke up in the hospital.”

“Papa said it took months for him to recover,” she continues, “He had whiplash and had to wear sunglasses all the time because the lights were too bright and he couldn't go out with his friends anymore because they were too loud. He failed a semester of school because he couldn't sleep at night and had headaches all the time.”

Ladybug sighs, “He flunked out of school and started working as a...well, it’s a kind of job where you don’t need to worry about weird sleeping hours. He still has insomnia and waking up really early is easy for him, which makes his job easier...things always happen for a reason, I guess,” Ladybug goes to place a hand on Adrien’s knee and hesitates, resting it on the cushion instead, “At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”

“So...you’re saying that I hit my head for a reason?”

“I know it sounds silly but…” Ladybug shakes her head, “I don’t know. I just know that I’m here for you now, to take care of you.”

“But what about the akumas? I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“Adrien,” Ladybug’s hand finally presses against his, “I can handle the akumas on my own for now.”

Adrien frowns, “What if you need help?”

“I'll find a way like I always do.”

“But—”

“No buts Chat,” Ladybug shifts her hand onto his knee and squeezes gently, “Besides, Plagg and I have already come to an agreement.”

“Plagg…” Adrien warns, his eyes narrowing at the little kwami. 

Plagg shrugs noncommittally, “Ladybug is right. You're grounded until you feel better.”

“I do feel better!” Adrien exclaims, tossing his arms in the air. His voice sounds fragile in his ears and he folds in on himself in defense, “I'll be fine in a few days.”

“It's going to take longer than that and you know it,” Ladybug replies sternly, squeezing harder, “I'll come and visit you every night to check up on you. You won't be alone.”

“I'm always alone,” he grumbles and immediately regrets it; it's like he's missing a filter or something!

“No you're not. You have your friends! You have Nino and Alya and...and Marinette. We're all here for you.”

Adrien pinches the bridge of his nose, “Why didn't your stupid purification charm work on me?”

He doesn't miss the pained look on her face as she lets him go, reeling back, “I...I don't know.”

Plagg appears over her shoulder, frowning as he licks the cheese off his paws, “It healed most of it.”

Ladybug and Adrien take pause, “It was worse?”

Plagg doesn't make eye contact, “Oh yes.”

He doesn't elaborate. Ladybug has a vivid enough imagination not to ask and Adrien just sinks further into his seat.

“You could have died…” Ladybug’s voice trails off and she looks suddenly stricken, blue eyes wide and brimming with something Adrien’s not used to seeing on her features. She holds her breath and moves before her mind can catch up with her emotions, wrapping her arms around his body. She crushes him to her chest and he squeezes back, burrowing his forehead into her shoulder.

“Oh Chat.”

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until it’s spilling down his cheeks, the hot tears catching on the waterproof fabric of her suit. He tries desperately to get a hold of himself but the dam he’s built has been leaking for days now and it all comes streaming out in a deluge he can’t hold back any longer. She strokes his back with one hand and buries her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull with the other, scratching calmingly against his skin. He feels himself begin to relax again, the pent-up storm inside of him dissolving like steam, the heat of her body and heart boiling away the emotions beneath. He’s so tired, so fed up with being useless and used and he clings to her like a lifeline, scared she’ll dissolve, scared she’ll leave him behind.

(Plagg, for all his eccentricities, falls apart a little at the seams.)

“It’s okay,  _ mon minou _ ,” she continues to stroke his back and card her fingers through his hair, “You’ll be alright, we will take care of you.”

Adrien doesn’t know whether he falls asleep in her arms or not, but when he wakes up at 4h in the morning buried in his bedsheets with Plagg at his side, he feels a little less alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't decided if I will write anymore in this universe. I do, however, really like the idea of _The Concussed Adventures of Detective Adrien_ as he tries to track down who that Tupperware container belongs to when he eventually gets nauseous enough to down lie on the floor and finds it stuffed beneath his bed. 
> 
> But I suppose a sequel would be up to you. Do you want more? Comments are currency (as are caffeinated beverages).

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


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